


I Can See Us Lost in the Memories

by BananaChef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (that was a lie but shhhhh), Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Ballroom Dancing, Bathing/Washing, But also, Casterly Rock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Married Couple, POV Brienne of Tarth, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Title from a Taylor Swift Song, Wedding Fluff, but if you notice the rating i did not in fact cash in on their ust and im sorry, is Conspiring Against Lord Fathers a tag????, is that cringey? absolutely. do i care? heck no, somehow this only took me 2 weeks but that's just a testament to how good angelowl's prompts are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaChef/pseuds/BananaChef
Summary: “Oh, don’t change the subject. You know very well what I mean; you know me far too well to misconstrue my words.” He nearly snarled the last of his reply, and suddenly started to viciously attack the golden hand lashed to his stump. Itclanged on the bedside table when Jaime tossed it onto the surface without a care, and Brienne let her gaze fall to the floor again as he massaged his stump. “You could have died, Brienne. I could have—” He choked up and cut himself off, causing her head to shoot up.Is he...crying?He was facing one of the windows, his hand hidden behind his face. “Ser Jaime, I...” Brienne tried to stand up but hissed lowly in pain, gripping the sheets; now that the adrenaline was fully out of her system, the pain was getting sharper. Suddenly she felt Jaime by her side, helping her lean back against the sheets and pillows, maneuvering her so that the movements did not aggravate her leg.“Stay here,” he told her softly, yet in a tone that brooked no argument. Brienne would have protested, but her head and eyelids were awfully heavy...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020





	I Can See Us Lost in the Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/gifts).



> As soon as I read the prompts, I was giddy with inspiration! Arranged marriage and soulmates???? Plus hurt/comfort???? Spectacular taste, ser! I almost immediately knew what this fic was going to be!!!! I just hope I executed it well and to your taste, angelowl. ❤️

When Brienne had dreamed of her wedding as a young child, she had dreamed of a man who looked at her like she was his whole world; of a dress made from blue silk the same color as her eyes that somehow looked flattering on her; of her hair being as bright as her smile, long and styled like the Maiden’s always was in the paintings. When Brienne was older, she dreamed of a knight in shining armor stealing her away from Tarth and its monotonous days to bear himself to her, a sapphire on his ankle, or arm, with a memory from her life embedded within it. All soulmarks were like that, she’d been told. Her parents’ had been, so she believed; but as she grew even older, she stopped believing. She stopped dreaming, because dreams were lies. The only truth she needed was the one she saw in the mirror every day.

Brienne had not dreamed of the wedding occurring at Casterly Rock, with its severity exceeded only by Lord Tywin Lannister’s visage; of the lankness of her hair made glaringly obvious by the flowers weaved into its straw-colored strands. The dress was blue silk brocade, a gift to herself as a reminder: even if the dreams of her childhood couldn’t come true, she could make do. Though she kept her gaze averted from her almost-husband, she knew that the look on his face would be something stoic. This was not his choice, nor hers. She was ugly, and oafish, and unintelligent; she was no one’s choice. But she was a woman, and fertile, and that was all that was needed. The fact that Ser Jaime Lannister was an honorable man who had bared his soul to her at Harrenhal with little to gain and much to lose simply made the burden easier to bear.

 _You should consider yourself lucky,_ Lord Tywin had conveyed to her—not outright, but with his mannerisms when he had summoned her to his study in King’s Landing. _You are beneath our station, not fit to be a Lannister, a last resort._ But what was she allowed to say? No? The arrangement had already been struck with her father, who was traveling to Casterly Rock at the very moment their conversation had occurred. There was no out, no exit. It was not a death sentence by any means, but the whole reason she had left Tarth was to forge a path she could be proud of.

Marrying into the Lannister family—the family that had enacted the Red Wedding and Lady Catelyn’s death—was not a path Brienne could be proud of. It was not an honorable path, but it was the one Brienne was on. One look at Jaime’s face after her conversation with Lord Tywin had told her everything: the arrangement was set in stone, and there was nothing either of them could do to persuade their fathers to undo it.

“Lady Brienne—” he had started, stepping toward her, a pitying look on his face.

 _I do not want his pity._ “There is nothing to say for it, ser.” Brienne had wanted to cry, as she did now. “We are to be married in two moons’ turns.” It had been a challenge to keep her voice straight. “Ser,” she had managed, bowing and picking up the skirts of her dress to stride away from Ser Jaime. _My chambers. I need to be alone._

That was then. Now, she was in Casterly Rock’s sept, her arm around her father’s, only two steps away from Jaime now. One last step and she was there, standing in front of the septon. Brienne still did not dare to look up for fear of what she would see. Lord Selwyn extracted his arm from his daughter’s and gave Brienne’s hand a small squeeze. _Inhale. Exhale._ She stepped onto the slightly raised platform Jaime and the septon stood on, ignoring the guests assembled in the pews.

People had been singing when she and her father had entered the sept what felt like a lifetime ago, but now the building was silent. “Do you, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, swear to obey the Seven in all their glory and power, and hold yourself to the binding vows spoken in this sept?” the septon asked, his voice ringing out.

“I do,” Jaime said, and Brienne had to purse her lips to quiet herself.

“Do you, Lady Brienne of House Tarth, swear to obey the Seven in all their glory and power, and hold yourself to the binding vows spoken in this sept?”

“I do,” she said, hating the way it was noticeable how close to tears she was. _This was not supposed to happen. I was supposed to leave King’s Landing and search for Sansa with Oathkeeper and King Tommen’s seal. I was supposed to keep my vows to Lady Catelyn._

“Lord Selwyn of House Tarth, Evenstar of Tarth, father to Lady Brienne, please remove the bride’s maiden cloak,” the septon commanded. Her father did so, reaching over Brienne’s shoulders with gentle hands to undo the clasps of suns and crescent moons attaching the quartered rose and azure cloak to her dress. Lord Tywin handed Jaime the ostentatious Lannister-crimson bride’s cloak, bedecked with rubies and golden roaring lion clasps, golden thread stitching the garment together, the Lannister sigil imposing on the back. “Ser Jaime, please cloak Lady Brienne with the bride’s cloak, bringing her under your protection.”

Jaime stepped forward and draped the crimson cloak around her shoulders, attempting to attach the lion clasps to her dress with some difficulty, his good hand fumbling. Brienne kept her eyes firmly trained on Jaime’s doublet, hands clasped together, until she could not wait any longer and reached up to clasp the cloak herself. “With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife,” he said when she stayed silent for a moment afterward.

With an amount of courage she did not know she possessed, Brienne raised her head. She did not have to say the words, but the look on everyone’s faces if she refused after all this time... She did not relish that, and she had no way of completing her vows to Lady Catelyn anyhow. Perhaps with this marriage, she could finally not disappoint someone for once in her life. _He is beautiful,_ Brienne thought; Jaime’s golden hair was artfully styled into waves reaching his shoulders, his green eyes made to stand out with the ornate brocade doublet he was wearing. She took a deep breath. “With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

Brienne pressed her lips to Jaime’s for only a moment before pulling away. He promptly linked their arms together, and the two turned to face the crowd. “Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Ser Jaime of House Lannister and Lady Brienne of House Tarth to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

* * *

The feast was as splendid as the ceremony had been. Brienne managed to eat a few bites of food before declining the rest, and when a servant came by to refill their goblets, she placed her hand over it. Jaime noticed, and gently pried her fingers away. “It will make everything less painful,” he told her, and she allowed the servant to fill her goblet. _The bedding. Of course._ “Do not fret over a bedding,” he continued, as if he had heard her thoughts. He swallowed audibly, sincerity flooding his eyes. “I would not force myself on you, nor anyone.”

“Thank you, ser,” Brienne said with an exhale of relief, but Jaime’s lips twisted wryly and he looked away.

“Do not thank me, my lady. It should be common courtesy. Women are not meant to be pawns in a game run by men.”

She nodded, grasping her goblet to take a long drink, nearly emptying the cup. “And what of our fathers’ expectations?” she asked, willing herself to be bold until the drink’s effects presented. A bedding could not be forced on them, but both men would expect heirs; everyone would expect children. It was not that Brienne was opposed to having children, it was that she had no choice in the matter. Everywhere she turned in life it seemed that people were eager to strip her ability to choose away from her.

“The gods take our fathers’ expectations,” Jaime proclaimed. “They went around our backs and forced us into this corner. Let their expectations rot. We will make of this situation what we can, and make them regret this. I will do what I can to get information on Lady Catelyn’s daughters, and should we find leads, we will leave the Rock at once.” Jaime was so earnest that Brenne started to believe that maybe the arrangement wasn’t as detrimental as she initially thought.

The Lannisters were no more honorable than they had been during the ceremony, but Jaime was not like the other Lannisters. He had honor—more than anyone knew, except perhaps her. “We should dance—give them a good show,” she suggested. Disappointment would be easier to bear with Jaime by her side when the time inevitably came a few moons or so later and there was no babe in her belly, Brienne thought. “It should be easier to leave if leads are found if they do not know our intent.”

“Quite right, my lady,” he agreed, giving her a dazzling smile like something from one of her fantasies and stealing her breath in the process. Jaime stood, his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back. “Care to dance?” he asked, extending his hand to her.

“I would, ser,” Brienne responded, placing her hand in his. Walking towards the dance floor, she was reminded of a time years ago on Tarth when she danced with King Renly. She had fallen in love with Renly then, when he saved her, sweeping her over to the couples already dancing and teaching her how to know her worth, even if it was all a lie. Gazing into Jaime’s smiling eyes, it felt as if—just for a moment, in the deepest of her daydreams—they could have been on Tarth instead, dancing to celebrate a union of choice, heading toward a night that could bring them a new life.

Brienne was swept out of Jaime’s arms and into the Lord of Ashemark’s, the dream violently crashing to the floor around her. Once more, she was hopelessly in love with a man who possessed the power to tear her down with a few well-placed words; and once more, he did not reciprocate, leaving Brienne to pick up the pieces of her heart and keep them close.

* * *

Ten moons later: there was no babe in her arms nor belly, there were no verifiable leads as to where the Stark girls had disappeared to, and their fathers’ wrath was palpable, even from King’s Landing and Tarth. Brienne and Jaime both were restless, and it made her reckless.

Jaime slammed the door of her chambers behind him, his rage blessedly not twisting his visage; even angry, his brows furrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line, he was beautiful. He said nothing as Brienne limped over to the large, ostentatious bed against one of the damasked walls. The entire room had subtle yet noticeable Lannister colors—red draperies and golden-yellow throw pillows on polished mahogany chairs, among other things. Brienne wanted to hate it all—wanted to hate the ornate bedspread she was dirtying—but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Lady Brienne,” her husband started, pacing in front of her. _Husband in name, only._ “Must you always be so pig-headed and stubborn?”

She lifted her head up to look at Jaime through the one eye that wasn’t swollen and surrounded by bruises. “As if you aren’t,” she snorted, unwilling to allow Jaime to chastise her. She would _never_ let someone chastise her for doing what was right—and defending those women was right.

“Oh, don’t change the subject. You know very well what I mean; you know me _far_ too well to misconstrue my words.” He nearly snarled the last of his reply, and suddenly started to viciously attack the golden hand lashed to his stump. It _clang_ ed on the bedside table when Jaime tossed it onto the surface without a care, and Brienne let her gaze fall to the floor again as he massaged his stump. “You could have _died,_ Brienne. I could have—” He choked up and cut himself off, causing her head to shoot up.

 _Is he...crying?_ He was facing one of the windows, his hand hidden behind his face. “Ser Jaime, I...” Brienne tried to stand up but hissed lowly in pain, gripping the sheets; now that the adrenaline was fully out of her system, the pain was getting sharper. Suddenly she felt Jaime by her side, helping her lean back against the sheets and pillows, maneuvering her so that the movements did not aggravate her leg.

“Stay here,” he told her softly, yet in a tone that brooked no argument. Brienne would have protested, but her head and eyelids were awfully heavy...

“Hmph?” There were voices, and the bed was dipping on one side.

“It’s just the maester, come to treat your wounds, my lady,” Jaime explained softly, and then someone’s hand was running through her hair.

Brienne forced her eyes open as the maester began to treat the wound on her leg, cutting away her breeches around it. Jaime was sitting next to her on the bed, his brows knit. She hissed and tensed when the maester cleaned the wound, reflexively gripping the closest thing she could—Jaime’s arm, close to his stump.

“The fissure is not too deep,” the maester said when he was done and Brienne’s leg was bandaged securely. “As long as you clean the wound every day before replacing the bandages, it should heal in due time.”

The pair nodded resolutely and the maester left, leaving Jaime and Brienne alone; tension quickly filled the air. “If it was because of our fathers’ expectations—” he started, as she said, “I had to help them.” He sighed, but his hand didn’t leave her hair.

“This has nothing to do with what our lord fathers expect from us,” Brienne admitted, aiming to make her voice hard. She suspected that she had failed. “Those men would have kidnapped those women if I hadn’t stepped in.”

Jaime snorted, his hand pausing its movement. “‘Stepped in’? You have bruising around your eye and ribs, as well as a dagger wound to your leg. You did not _step in,_ you put yourself in harm’s way— _yet again_ —when it was unnecessary and might have cost your life. There were guards not a minute away, and men in the tavern—” He cut himself off, sighing heavily. Brienne gently rubbed her thumb along his wrist. “It does no good to dwell on the past. Simply—you do not have to go things alone, my lady. I would gladly go to town with you, or any number of servants and guards in the castle would be willing to travel alongside you. This is your home now, and I...I want it to feel so for you.”

Brienne was struck with emotion at Jaime’s monologue, tears welling in her eyes. _It is the injuries. They have made me emotional._ “Thank you, Ser Jaime,” she whispered, swallowing to alleviate her dry throat. “I will take more precautions next time.” His words also left a sense of finality resting heavily on her chest; Casterly Rock was her home now. The chances of finding leads on Lady Catelyn’s daughters were slim, although neither would give up their covert search, and meant that it was time to make a choice. But not now.

“Thank you,” he responded, voice low, his eyes meeting hers for a prolonged moment before he suddenly extracted himself. Brienne felt the loss of his warmth keenly. “I should let you sleep. I’ll be back come morning.”

She nodded and watched his retreating form, a sort of wistfulness capturing her and squeezing her heart as it always did. Jaime was always beautiful, and never hers. Brienne cursed the part of her that wanted to give up the search and forge some semblance of a happy life with Jaime; he was honorable, and she knew how much he relished getting letters from the king—she had seen him add one to a stack in his study when they were looking over new information once. Jaime wanted to be a father, and it was plain to see; years ago, Brienne had let herself want to be a mother, but that was before she had learned the deep cruelties of the world.

The want of that sort of life had come back and shaken her to shocked silence the first time they had sparred so much so that Jaime had enquired after her health. It was not fair that he looked beautiful from every angle and that some positively animalistic, _feral_ part of her wanted to practically devour him at the sight of his sweat-stained body every time they sparred. It was not fair that his smile whenever he received a letter from Tommen—or, sparsely, Myrcella—made her heart clench and set her imagination galloping off to Tarth with scenarios where the two of them were running along her favorite beach, just behind a few blond-haired children. It was not fair that she had to experience this tragic longing— _again_ —while Jaime was blissfully unaware of her struggle. _Even the gods seem to scorn me._

* * *

Brienne could not fathom why Jaime would take to caring for her himself, but she dared not question him. Their current predicament was fragile; though he bickered with her constantly, he was not doing so then, and his silence set her on edge more than his anger ever would. Jaime was entirely serious as he helped Brienne out of bed, having kept his word and returned, servants carrying buckets of water in tow. She had assumed that they would be attending to her, but once the last of the bathing supplies were deposited on the edge of the tub, the servants all left, leaving husband and wife alone.

Jaime slowly maneuvered Brienne onto the lip of the tub, careful not to touch the wound on her leg. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to her trousers. “It is nothing I have not seen before.” Despite a blush infusing her cheeks, she nodded, starting to untie the laces of her tunic and fumbling a bit because of her swollen eye. She tossed her tunic to the floor when she was done and shimmied out of her trousers with Jaime’s help. “The maester left instructions on how to wash the dagger wound, and he advised not submerging it into the water. Here.” He offered his hand to Brienne and helped her into the bath, gently propping up her foot on the lip of the tub on the other end.

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him.

Jaime met her gaze for a moment, his own studiously unwavering, before swallowing heavily and nodding. “I’m sorry. For not having information on Sansa Stark.” They had come to terms with the likelihood of Arya Stark being dead moons ago, but Sansa... They had no information beyond her likely having traveled to her family, either Riverrun, the Eyrie, or Castle Black. Jaime had done a campaign in the Riverlands moons ago to subdue the last of the Young Wolf’s supporters, but Lady Sansa had not been at Riverrun when he had secured Lord Edmure Tully’s submission, nor any other lord’s hall as far as they knew.

“It is no one’s fault,” Brienne replied, grabbing the soap and brush off the lip of the tub. “I’m proud of you, Jaime.” _I forgot the “ser,”_ she thought, stricken, until she glanced up at Jaime and saw a tender look on his face. It was as if her words were truly a comfort to him, although it likely should not have come as a surprise after his behavior yesterday. “You easily could have forsaken your vows, even without having been forced to at swordpoint, but you chose not to, and I deeply appreciate that.”

Jaime looked as if he was like to shed tears, but the moment passed when he looked away and sniffed. Brienne pretended not to notice as he thumbed away tears with his left hand and instead attempted to reach her back without dislodging her foot. “Here, allow me,” he said, walking over to the side of the bath to kneel beside her, his hand proffered. “I can reach your back. Let me help.”

Brienne gave him a small nod and handed the bar of soap over to him, watching Jaime move behind her out of her periphery. She felt him slide the bar of soap across her back perfunctorily, soon reaching her shoulders; he moved her hair out of the way with his stump, and the act brought tears to her eyes. It had taken many days and nights to convince Jaime that he was not a broken husk of a man because of his lost hand, and now he was comfortable using it when he was able, and touching her with it in place of his hand on rare occasions (though they had become steadily more common over time, to Brienne’s delight). He washed one shoulder and then moved to the other, the one with her soulmark on it in the form of a bright golden-yellow flower, but Jaime gasped and let the soap fall from his fingers to fall in the water.

“Jaime?” Brienne said, turning around as much as possible without moving her injured leg. “Jaime? What—” _He’s touching my soulmark._

Jaime suddenly inhaled heavily, drawing his hand away from her soulmark. “My mother—I saw her—she always loved those flowers, but I never remembered—she would import them from Sothoryos to make the Rock feel lived-in. Brienne,” he ended with, and a tear streamed down one side of his face, joined by another on the other side shortly after.

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered, overcome with emotion. He was—he had seen his mother— _good gods,_ they were soulmates? _Are the gods truly this kind?_

Jaime suddenly reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in his haste, but he soon was pushing it down his arms to bear his golden skin. He moved back to her side and took her hand in his, gazing into her eyes as he placed her hand on his arm. The bathroom faded around Brienne and was replaced with a darkened nursery, a woman within, rocking a babe to sleep as she sang. The woman turned and Brienne saw her own eyes in the woman’s, lit by a single candle. The babe in the woman’s arms had the same blue eyes, along with wisps of pale blond hair. _It’s me. And the woman...it is my mother._

The next moment, Brienne was back in the bath, tears streaming down her face. “My mother. I saw her too, I saw her singing to me as a babe. She sang, ‘Hush now, my starlight, do not have fear, for mama loves you and is here.’” She let out a sob and looked down at Jaime’s soulmark. _A sapphire._ He pressed his forehead against hers, letting out something between a sob and a laugh.

“If someone had told me that I would be in a loving marriage a year ago, I would have laughed in their face,” Jaime admitted softly, a smile spreading from him to Brienne. He pulled away a bit to hold her face between his left hand and his stump. “I do love you. I _have_ loved you, Brienne. Gods, I have never known a love like this.”

“Neither have I.” Brienne grinned and pulled him in for a kiss, coming away from it with a smile matched by Jaime despite the fact that she was vastly inexperienced at kissing and had bumped teeth with him more than a few times. “I have loved you for many moons. I think I started to love you at Harrenhal, when you told me about Aerys.”

Jaime pressed his forehead against hers and stayed there, his good hand cupping the bottom of her skull as one of her hands went to clasp his stump. They met in a gentle kiss, and Brienne’s heart soared. _Mama, I know you now. I know true love now._ She smiled against her husband’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! ❤️❤️❤️ If you’re interested, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bananachefuwu) and [Tumblr](https://bananachef.tumblr.com/)! Happy holidays/end-of-year relaxation time! 😆


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